


A New Years Kiss

by kyrieanne



Category: Emma Approved
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrieanne/pseuds/kyrieanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One New Year's Emma kisses Alex...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Years Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a drabble series that spawned out of control.

Typically Emma doesn’t drink beyond a mild buzz. She prides herself on this fact

But one New Year’s she’s mourning the end of a relationship (not the boy, but the relationship) and Isabella convinces her to go to New York.

Alex is in the city for a conference for school when he gets Emma’s text:

9:00 o’clock, Waldorf-Astoria, Penthouse, Wear a tie.

He ignores her, but it’s immediately followed by:  

NO KHAKIS!!!

Which just annoys him enough to call her and find out exactly what the Woodhouse sisters are up to.

"Come on, Alex!" Emma implores, "You’re seriously going to skip New Year’s because you’ve got to rest up for your accounting conference?!?”

"It’s an actuarial science convention," he says and she actually blows a raspberry over the phone. "Are you sure you’re okay, Emma?"

She tells him she’s fine a little too quickly, her voice hitching in the middle, and that’s what convinces him to show up.

When he gets there its a room full of people he doesn’t know and someone had turned up the bass on the Backstreet Boys or N’sync or some other unfortunate boy band.

"BYE BYE BYE," Emma bops through the crowd to him. "Alex! You came! I didn’t think you would."

He catches her around the hips and frowns. “You called me,” he says by way of explanation.

She leans against him and he finds the bartender and asks for a cup of ice and a beer. She steals a drag of his beer and giggles when he takes it away from her.

"Here, drink this," he puts the cup of ice in her hands and leans her against the wall, "Drink this and stay right here. I’ll be right back."

From across the room he sees Isabella dancing with at least two different men. She calls his name and waves. She doesn’t have the same glassy eyed look as Emma and he guesses she’s completely sober. Isabella had always been wild; it was Emma who pacified their father with good behavior and it was Emma who would need alcohol to let loose. He gives up on Isabella and returns to find Emma swaying against the wall munching on ice.

"Aleeeeeeex," she throws her hands up in the air and the cup of ice goes flying across the crowd.

He catches her again and her momentum knocks them both back onto the fluid dance floor that has formed in the middle of the hotel suite.

Alex does not dance. Period.

But Emma is moving her hips beneath his hands and her own hands are wound around his neck. He stands there, frozen, but then her fingers dip beneath the collar of his dress shirt and they are hot against his skin. She skims along his shoulders and he swallows tight. When she pulls her hands out he actually whimpers.

But then she is tossing her hair and grinning up at him, “Alex,” she says. She doesn’t yell it this time. It’s quiet. He can barely hear it above the music, but her lips are near his ear and its all he can think about until he feels her fingers on his chest, brushing the top button and she’s actually undressing him there on the dance floor.

"Emma!" he jerks back.

She giggles and pulls on his hand. He doesn’t know why he follows her, but later he tells himself its the pulse of the music in his ears and heat of all the bodies. Or maybe it’s because they’re in New York, so far from home and reality that everything seems to be like a dream. Or maybe it’s because he can hear the countdown to midnight and he knows what’s coming - the first minute of the New Year - a moment where everything has turned over and you can do whatever you want.

Whatever the excuse, he follows her through the crowd and down the hall. She looks back over her shoulder, smirks, and he swears she’s suddenly sober. She’s daring him just like she’s always doing. Someday you’re finally going to let me help and I’m going to make your life unbelievable.

30…29…28…27…26…25…

He knows she’s talking about life coaching, but in that moment he foolishly lets himself believe she means something else. So he follows her through a door and finds himself in a….closet.

Emma giggles as she closes the door, “Shhhhhh,” she says.

"What are we doing?" he protests but she presses two fingers against his lips and it stops him cold. Just like the dance floor again - they’re pressed together and Alex can hear the beat in his ears. It takes him a moment to realize it’s his own heart.

15…14…13…12…11…10…

"You came," she says, "I didn’t think you would."

"I’ll always be there Emma." His hands ghost up her spine and when he reaches the bare skin of her back she shivers. He feels it and shivers too.

"You always have some big IMPORTANT," her eyes go round at the word, "work."

9…8…7…6…5…

"None of that matters," he breathes, "none of that matters compared to -,"

She kisses him. The you dies between them like a spark snuffed out before it can kindle. It’s an admission neither of them can handle right now. Her lips are beneath his and for once Alex doesn’t freeze. He backs her up against the closet door and holds her face in his hands. He opens his mouth over her’s and she responds with a noise in her throat that will keep him up at night for months to come. It’s need. Emma Woodhouse doesn’t need anyone but in that moment she needs him and it’s intoxicating. Her hands are tugging at him, pulling him closer and he lifts her up so her legs can wrap around his waist.

4…3…2…1…

That’s all they get. A minute of untime. A moment between years. Alex makes good use of it to explore the softness of Emma’s mouth. At some point the urgency between them lessons. Her hands stop pulling on his hair and she sighs beneath him. He leans completely against her and works his mouth across her’s with aching intent. His limbs tingle and he’s pretty sure that of the two of them he’s the one who is drunk.

"Alex."

The way that she says his name sends chills through his veins. He’s never heard her sound like that before. There is something intimate and private about her voice that causes him to feel like he has trespassed on something sacred. He took advantage. She has been drinking. She is on the rebound. She doesn’t want him. She wanted comfort. A warm body to keep her company. He knew better. He deserves better and once more she deserves better.

"Alex?"

He drags himself away and bites his lip. His hand finds the knob of the door and he opens it, letting the shouts of joyous partiers fill the space between them.

***

"Alex?"

"Yeah?"

It’s years later and Emma is looking at him with a quizzical frown from across their conference room table.

"You seem years away," she says, "I was just talking about the Highbury New Year’s party. Are you even listening?"

"Uh, yeah," he sits up, "I agree with whatever you said."  

Her nostrils flare, but her face remains passive as she turns to the other members of their group, “So moving onto catering…,”

Alex tries to listen, he really does, but he can’t. He can’t help but remember the feeling he had the next morning when she showed up in the lobby of his hotel with muffins and a “I’m so sorry. I don’t remember anything from last night,” falling out before he could say anything. He let her thank him for taking care of her and ducked his head when she pinched the bridge of her nose at the thought of losing control like Isabella said she did.

"I hate making a fool of myself Alex," she said, "It’s like I’m in high school or something."

"Yeah," he agreed. "High school."

That was years ago, but he can still hear his name on her lips, Alex, needing him when Emma Woodhouse never needs anyone. He won’t admit it to anyone, but it keeps him up some nights - the hope he might hear it again someday.

***

 

Emma blames Maddie Bates.

She’s not even a bridesmaid, but she’s invited anyways to Isabella’s bachelorette party because, well, Emma’s not really sure why. It seems like everyone loves Maddie Bates, but no one knows what to do with her so she ends up in Emma’s lap.

Emma is the maid of honor so of course it’s all very tasteful. The plan is girl’s spa weekend at their father’s house in Coronado. There will be pedicures, catered brunch overlooking the ocean, and mimosas. Lots of mimosas.  

Emma lets Maddie make the drinks just to give the nervous woman something to do. Maddie swears she knows what she’s doing and Emma’s first mistake is to believe her. Instead of champagne Maddie uses Everclear and succeeds in getting them completely sloshed the first night.

This is what happens next:

"I’m never going to kiss anybody againnnnnnnn," Isabella laments. She bobs up and down in the pool, her party dress rising up around her like a tutu. The bright pink reminds Emma of bubble gum and she giggles.

"I hope John is a great kisser then," Annie knocks back her glass and tips the last of the bright orange drink down her throat.

"Oh, he’s got a great tongue. And not just on the mouth parts either -,"

"WOAH," Emma interrupts, "I don’t want to know about John Knightley’s magnificent tongue. He’s Alex’s brother."

"Okay, okay, new game-," Annie grins, "In honor of Isabella’s impending monogamy - name the best kiss of your life."

"New Year’s Eve."

Emma blurts out the answer so fast that she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Her best friend and her sister both tilt their heads. They’ve never heard about this kiss because Emma decided the day after it happened to pretend that it hadn’t happened at all. She’s never breathed a word of her memory to anyone. In fact, she tries not to let herself think about it and she most definitely tries to avoid comparing every kiss she’s had since to it.

Because the best kiss of her life had been Alex Knightley.

She had been drunk, but she hadn’t been that drunk. She knew what she was doing. Well, she still doesn’t know exactly why she pulled him into that closet in the first place. In the intervening years Emma has decided the alcohol loosened up some desire deep in her gut though she tries not to think about what that desire had been for exactly.

But when she pushed up on her toes to kiss him? That had been on purpose. She remembers the word on his lips you and even in her drunken haze she feared it. She feared what it would mean for Alex Knightley to want her.

So she kissed him. Emma won’t pretend it was logical, but it was damn fun.

"Emma, what New Years?" Isabella pushes through the water to tug on Emma’s leg, which is dipped in the pool. "Cause I’ve spent every New Years of your life with you and I don’t think you’ve kissed a boy at midnight since Bobby Drammer in 9th grade."

"It was in New York, remember that time I got really drunk?"

"Yes," Isabella’s eyes narrow, "but I was sober and there was no boy."

"I ducked out for a moment and this guy just kissed me and it was epic."

She hoped it was enough. She hoped they would let it rest at that, but Annie suddenly gave a dramatic gasp and Emma cringed.

"It was Alex, wasn’t it?!"

Emma scrunches her nose, “Why would you think that?”

"Because he took care of you that night. I’ve heard the story a thousand times."

"Alex is…" Emma gapes for the right word but words are hard right now. "He’s so…khaki."

"IT. WAS. HIM. WASN’T. IT." Isabella punctuates each word with a splash of water, drenching Emma and Annie who sit on the side of the pool.

"It was Alex," Emma concedes and it’s like her brain and her mouth are no longer connecting because just as she swore she wasn’t going to fess up no matter what she’s blurting the truth out.

Isabella and Annie squeal so hard that Emma has to reach for another drink.

"It was years ago," she tries miserably to down play this, but it doesn’t work.

"Emma you realize this changes everything," Anne sighs.

"It changes nothing. He’s Alex and it was years ago and we were drunk and he doesn’t even know that I know that it happened."

"You were the only one drinking and you weren’t that drunk," Isabella points out. She grins stupidly up at her sister, "So what was it like?"

"Detailed." Again her mouth acts on its own and says whatever it wants - her brain be damned.

Annie quirks an eyebrow, “Detailed?”

"Like he is with paperwork. His hands cupped my face and he kind of sucked on my lower lip. Just a little. Gentle. Like waves on the sand," Emma says, "but that was later. At first it wasn’t gentle. Not at all. After I kissed him, he backed me up against the wall and his hands were everywhere. Have you ever noticed Alex’s hands? They’re really wide and I just remember he kept touching me as if he couldn’t get enough and it was so hot. And then he picked me up, which is sexy as hell. And he just kept pressing.”

Her hands are at her throat and when she opens her eyes both Annie and Isabella just watch her, mouths open.

"What?" Emma swallows, "I said it was epic."

"Then why did you pretend to not remember it?" Annie asks.

Emma ducks her head and swirls her feet in the water, ”Cause he felt guilty halfway through. Cause when I said his name he stopped and just sorta opened the door and walked away. I don’t really know why. I guess cause he remembered I’m like a little sister or something.”

Isabella snorts, “I doubt he thought of you as a little sister right then.”

But Annie is gentler, “I’m sorry Emma.”

"Yeah," Emma shrugs, "it doesn’t matter now anyway. We’ve been through too much. I can’t lose him as my friend. I need him."

***

Emma Woodhouse smelled like jasmine and sweat and drive. The first is from her shampoo, the second because they had been at a party, and the third - well Alex isn’t sure, but drive is the only word that comes to mind when he remembers that kiss.

Ambition. Persistence. Confidence. Energy. Aspiration. Longing.

What does yearning smell like?

Cause that is the tang of Emma’s skin.

Alex read once that there are anywhere from 2,000-8,000 taste buds on the human tongue. He feels gross thinking about tongues and Emma. She’s Isabella’s sister. Mr. Woodhouses’ beloved daughter. His sister-in-law. His business partner. His friend.

She fills up so many categories in his life that to think about what it had been like to kiss Emma, to taste her skin, is a dangerous, dangerous dream.

Besides - it hadn’t been right. He should have never let it happen. Alex is the kind of person who doesn’t do stupid things. That’s his role. He likes it. Let John follow whims and chase one windfall after the next. Let Emma be the creative force behind their business. Alex plays chess with Mr. Woodhouse and enjoys talking accounting with Maddie Bates. He has a favorite Excel function. He does not kiss young women in closets when they’ve been drinking. He does not kiss the girl who grew up on the other side of the street.

But he did.

And sometimes when he comes home at night he can still smell Emma on his clothes. She’s everywhere. In the cuff of his sleeves after she steals his hoodie when the office gets cold. In his car because he drives her home after they go to a bar to celebrate a new client. On his phone - texting him at 3:00 a.m. when she can’t sleep because of a new idea. And worst of all in his head when he goes to sleep at night.

Oh, most of the time he’s fine. Most of the time he doesn’t remember he’s that guy - that gross guy that did something that, if another guy tried to do to Emma, he’d punch him without thought. Most of the time real life interrupts and Alex isn’t so angsty.

But then she invades him - still jasmine, sweat, and drive. She pulls him along with her and quirks an eyebrow at him over her shoulder, a smirk just for him, part amusement and part self-righteousness.

Or like tonight - she curls into his shoulder because she thinks she failed and Alex really isn’t sure what happened. She won’t tell him. She thinks he might yell at her, which he might if she weren’t so defeated. They’ve been fighting a lot lately and he’s not sure why now, suddenly, Emma is getting to him like this. She’s always been stubborn, but now she’s infuriating.

But tonight Alex puts all of that aside easily because she wouldn’t look at him. She tried to hide her face and it wasn’t until he softened and said, “Hey-, ” that she turned into his arm. She stayed there for a long time and he just held her because he doesn’t get to do that often enough.

***

 

Here is how Alex finds out Emma remembers the kiss:

After they lose James Elton as a client Emma gives herself exactly one night to mourn.

Alex recognizes this by the fact that she wears flats to the office. She almost never does that unless she’s sick or tired or sad. They are red and match her lips. He compliments her on them and she offers a small smile.

"Blood orange is very big this season," she says though there isn’t the same excitement in her voice like that one time when she knocked down his door to tell him that the Pantone color of the year was in fact emerald. (He really has no idea what that even means, but Emma had been very excited because apparently she called it).

Now her tone is thin and her eyes wider than usual. She just looks…unsure.

Alex hates this. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, “Is there a difference between blood orange and, like, red?”

"You’re probably right," she nods and ducks her head.

This scares Alex. Emma has never admitted he was right so quickly and certainly not about something that was so…her. Normally she’d roll her eyes and take that tone with him - the oh Alex tone that a small part of him loves. He loves it because its never mean spirited or annoyed. It’s indulgent. They indulge each other. It’s part of their thing.

If he and Emma have a thing.

Sometimes Alex isn’t really sure what it is they have.

It’s a partnership and friendship. Those lines are firmly drawn in the sand. But then she has that oh Alex tone and there is a warmth there that is something else entirely. It’s a different type of affection. The kind of intimacy you don’t find too often in life. It’s the intimacy of potential that scares him if he thinks about it too often.

"Hey," he touches her shoulder, "Elton was wrong. You’re a good matchmaker Emma."

"Thanks." They lock eyes for a moment, but then Emma steps back and starts to walk away, but Alex calls out.

"Emma, you should know I would never have signed up to work with you if I didn’t believe in you."

"I know."

"It doesn’t seem like you believe it. At least not today."

"It’s just…I’m not going to make people’s lives better because I get them to wear more blood orange."

He steps into her personal space so she has to look up to meet his eye. “You can’t let one mad client make you doubt the reason why we do what we do.”

"But why are you here - you could be doing anything else. Important stuff."

"Hey," he says, "none of that matters compared to -,"

"To me," she finishes for him, ducking her head, "I remember."

***

 

Here is how Emma finds out Alex knows she remembers the kiss:

He won’t return her texts.

This has happened before. Emma was forbidden from texting Alex about work between the hours of 1:00 a.m. and 7:00 a.m.. The word emergency had strict guidelines for its use. She is used to getting one word replies.

But she can’t get him on any other platform either - he won’t answer his cell or return emails. He sent her a curt email on Thursday that he was going to be working from home and she’d given him space over the weekend. She doesn’t blame him. She’s been mopey since the disaster with James Elton. If she were Alex she’d want to step away for a few days.

But then Monday comes around and he sends another email and this time its to the whole Highbury group. He’s going to take a few personal days.

That’s fine, but when Emma tries to reach him about work (because there’s being-out-of-the-office and then there’s vacation - to Emma neither of them negate still working) and he won’t answer her.

This has never happened before. He’s never not talked to her.

Frightened, Emma calls the hospitals on her way to his condo. She makes Harriet call the police stations and imagines him lying at the bottom of a ravine after falling from rock climbing alone. She hates it when he does that. After seeing 27 Hours she researched having a chip implanted in him like her father did with their family dog just so she could always find him. But that idea apparently crossed the line of TOO FAR (though Emma still has the name of the company in her contacts).

It’s Alex. Alex is steady. He’s consistent and predictable. It didn’t make him boring. It made him safe. So the idea that Alex isn’t safe terrifies her.

She may run three red lights to get across town to his condo.

But it isn’t until Emma sees his car in the drive that she realizes what is happening. She stops at the end of his drive and hesitates. There’s no way he was not talking to her, is there? The idea of that is so foreign that she’s not really sure what that would look like. She realizes that she’s not really sure what anything would look like if her relationship with Alex were to change.

Emma bites her lip and sends him a text:

You home? Cause I’m standing out here and you haven’t answered me for 4 days. I’m starting to think it’s me.

And a minute later:

New York. New Years. You remember.

***

Fact: Emma likes tequila.

Fact: Alex does not.

Truth: Alex drinks tequila because its the only thing he has in his house except beer, which he ran out of on Friday night. He drinks it and stews because Emma brought the bottle over months ago when they had margarita night.

"Margarita night?" Alex jerked his head when Emma suggested it. She stood in his office doorway and leaned on the frame, legs crossed at the ankle and wicked grin on her face, "Isn’t that a thing you do with your girlfriends?"

She shrugs, “Annie and Ryan have a date night.”

"So I’m your second choice?"

Emma drops into the seat opposite his desk, picks up the stress ball she gave him two years (“Frown lines lead to wrinkles, Alex. Got to preserve that mug of yours.”). She tossed it at him and Alex caught it with one hand.

"Yes, you are my second choice in girlfriend," she says dryly, "But you’re always my first choice in everything else related to friendship. Does that soothe your ego?"

"It helps."

All he gets for this is a massive eye roll with her entire body. It makes Alex smile and he looks at his hands perched over his keyboard. He’d been doing something when she appeared in his doorway like a spring storm, sudden and overwhelming. It occurs to him that he stopped what he was doing for her. He always does.  

"Maybe I have a date." Alex suggests, "you didn’t even ask if I were free."

Emma snorts, “Your plans for tonight were to pick up a New Yorker pizza from that place on Gregson, pepperoni and olives,” she scrunches her nose in disgust, “Then you’d go home, sit around in your boxers, and watch A River Runs Through It while you do boring paperwork. Oh, and beer. There would be beer.”

"I would have worn pants," he protests.

"There would have been no pants."

He bites his lip to hide the smile and Emma points a gotcha finger at him.

"Fine. There would have been no pants," he admits.

"That settles it. Your place. Margaritas. Grilled tuna steaks and homemade guacamole. We’ll watch When Harry Met Sally and you can lecture me on how love is never like it is in the movies.”

"That’s cause it’s not."

She stands up and picks the stress ball up, tossing it in the air a few times. Alex leans back in his chair, chin resting on his palm, just waiting for her.

"The only difference is in the movies they get a soundtrack."

"And improbably circumstances, compressed timelines, hyperbolic declarations of emotion, wildly simplified circumstances, and a dozen other set-ups that create unrealistic ideals about love."

She tosses her hair, “Careful. You’re sounding bitter.”

"I’m sounding sane."

"Sanity is in the eye of the beholder," she leans both palms on his desk. "Fine, if you’re smarter than Nora Ephron then tell me - is it possible for a guy and a girl to be friends. Just friends."

"Of course. Look at us."

He is sure he imagines the way her pupils dilate when he says it. He ignores the way his own throat tightens up when he says it.. The words are rushed, a knee jerk response, and Alex looks down.

"Exactly. Look at us," Emma says quietly and stands up. He is brave enough to meet her eye again on her way out of his office and at the last second she calls out, "Must wear pants."

That had been months ago and now Alex gulps down the last of Emma’s tequila he groans into a pillow and lets the bottle drop to the floor.

Drinking for four days really is an over reaction. He runs through the arguments in his head.

It had happened a long time ago. So she remembered? It wasn’t that big of a deal. It’d been one kiss. She lied to spare him.

Alex knows how lies like that grow. They start out as innocuous and over time they become a truth of their own because they slip into memory. The lie becomes the truth because it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal and then time passes and it somehow it is embedded in your history and now its a part of you. Alex gets how that happens.

His lie? That Emma is just his friend.

It is a small lie he told himself a thousand times when they were in high school and then college and then after. He’s said it to girlfriends and friends. Emma and him are just friends. Business partners can’t be anything more. It’d get too complicated. John and Isabella even asked him once. He told them just like he’d told everyone else. Just friends. And the more he repeated it the more Alex believed it until he had to believe it because if it wasn’t true then everything would be ruined.

It’s at this point in his realizations that Alex started drinking the tequila.

She’d lied to him. It hurts, but he knows Emma. Emma lies when she thinks it’ll spare someone. She does it readily when her gut tells her to.

It isn’t the lying (though he knows he should care more) that has him mixed up. It’s the idea that he might be in love with Emma.

Yes, locking yourself in your condo for four days and ignoring the world because the girl you kissed years ago actually remembers it (versus was in a drunken haze, which made him a creeper beyond creeper) - all of that may seem like an over reaction, but it’s not about Emma.

It’s about him.

Fact: If she remembers then that means the kiss had been real.

Fact: If she remembers then that means she’s always remembered.

Truth: If she remembers then Alex doesn’t know what he wants to happen next.

***

Emma tries to get Alex to call her back.

She litters his Facebook wall with reaction GIFs, which Alex thinks are idiotic.

"I mean if you want to react, react. Get your own face," he once said.

But he doesn’t take the bait.

So she signs him up for every flash sale site out there. She has a singing telegram delivered - the fight song to his undergrad arch nemesis. She sends flowers. She tells her Dad Alex is very sick and waits half a day for him to call, but if there is anything her father has always had total confidence in its the Knightley constitution.

"Steady as a rock," her father insists, "he’ll be fine. Knightley is always fine. It’s one of my favorite facts about life."  

But what if Emma won’t be fine? What if this marks the end of their friendship? Of their partnership? Alex is working - he sends brisk emails to her about work. Gone are the asides and winky faces when he is talking about Excel as if it were worth an emoji. There is no quippy sign off or dry subject lines. In fact, Emma never realized until now how much effort Alex put into his emails to her or rather how much of Alex seeped into something as dry and mundane as a email about quarterly earnings.  

It isn’t until he’s gone that she realizes how much of her life he’s seeped into.

Everything echoes and this makes the James Elton situation look like a speed bump. This with Alex is a gaping hole in the road and Emma feels like she is falling. When she lies in bed at night she literally has the sensation of falling. It’s strange and she is forced to sleep on the couch several nights in row because her bed is suddenly too big and too small at the same time.

It’s after she delivers the apology khakis to his front door that it hits Emma - why is she the one apologizing?

Yes, she’d lied, but it’d been years ago. Truthfully one reason she’d lied was because when he showed up in the hotel lobby the next morning he looked so wretched and she’d wanted to spare him the guilt of kissing the one girl he was never supposed to kiss. So she lied. It was one kiss…or several kisses complete with up-against-the-wall grinding.

But it’d been in a closet at midnight on New Years. It could hardly be called monumental, could it? And even if it had been hiding in your condo for a week is not Emma Approved.

The fact is the longer Alex takes to talk to her the more Emma becomes convinced she doesn’t need to apologize. It doesn’t occur to her that he thought she had been too drunk to remember and kissed her anyway…okay it does occur to her, but for some reason here it doesn’t feel as gross. It’s still wrong and she plans on lecturing him on that fact even years after the fact. But that fact fades just like Emma’s guilt and in its place anger.

So after a week Emma doesn’t care anymore. She pulls out her phone, opens Twitter and sends a one word tweet:

Ass.

It’s only half a minute after that that her phone rings.

***

Emma will admit its not the smartest thing she’s ever done, but it does feel inevitable.

She hits answer on her phone and there is silence. Neither of them speak, but she can hear him breathing. She can hear herself breathing.

"I’m done apologizing," she stammers and winces because Emma Woodhouse does not stammer. She takes a deep, steadying breath and says it again, "I’m done apologizing."

"I know."

She won’t lie - hearing his voice after a week of nothing soothes a small part of her out.

"And I think you should apologize."

"I know. It was gross of me to kiss you when you were drunk. I shouldn’t have done it."

She bites her lip, “Is that how you feel…I mean felt…that kissing me was gross?”

"No," he says quickly and then blows a breath, "shit Emma we screwed this up."

"We did," she clutches the phone and smiles. She tries to bite it back, but she can’t. She’s beginning to hear Alex again in the person on the other end of the line, her best friend Alex.

"I honestly don’t know why I kissed you."

"It was New Years. We’d been drinking. Things happen."

"Yeah, let’s go with that," he says, "and it wasn’t gross. Or at least my intentions were innocent."

"Not that innocent," she teases and he chuckles.

"Well, not innocent, but I certainly didn’t think you were black out drunk. I would have never…you know that, right?"

"Alex," she chides gently, "of course."

"It was still a bit sketchy because I knew you had just broken up with that guy and you had been drinking…"

"Alex, I kissed you remember? If I’m telling you now that it was my choice and I made it with a clear head then you don’t get to feel guilty. You don’t get to ignore my version of events just so you can stroke your manpain."

"Manpain?"

"What else has this past week been?"

"I don’t know," he says quietly. "It just took me a while to get my head around the fact that you remembered because that kiss was -,"

"The best damn kiss of my life," Emma bites her lip. She reminds herself she’s Emma Woodhouse. She doesn’t stammer or hesitate. She tells the truth when the truth is what needs to be told.

This time his silence is good. She waits for him to recover.

"Me too."

She closes her eyes when she asks the question, ”So what do we do about it?”

"I want to talk to you."

"I want to talk to you too."

"Cause I’ve had time to think about what I want and I know -,"

"Alex."

"Yeah?"

"Hold that thought," Emma is already up and looking for her purse. She stuffs her feet into shoes and realizes she doesn’t even remember what she looks like today. But it’s Alex. It doesn’t matter what she looks like. She shuts her office door and is practically running through the Highbury offices for the elevator. "Hold that thought. I’m about to lose coverage once I go into the parking garage, but Alex I’m on my way over and we’re going to talk. I think we have things to say to one another and things like that can’t be said over the phone."

"I assume that’s not Emma Approved," he teases wryly. She smiles and jams the button with her finger again and again.

"Exactly."

"I’ll open a bottle of wine - red or white?"

"Red."

"Red it is. I’ll see you in 15. Oh, and Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"I’m really glad you remembered."

She hears the elevator doors ring distantly, but she’s too busy smiling into the phone for it to register. “Me too,” she says.

And then he is gone and she exhales just before she is about to step onto the lift, but then there is a body in her way and she goes flying back. She would have fallen if it hadn’t been for an arm reaching out to steady her.

"Easy there," says a deep voice and Emma looks up to see a very tall, blond man with a wide smile looking down at her. A look of recognition flickers in his blue eyes, "I think you’re who I’m looking for."

"Who would that be?" She’s suddenly aware of his hand on her upper arm and steps back. He drops his hold without ceremony.

"Emma Woodhouse," he quirks his head, "I’m Frank Churchill and I’ve come looking for your services."

And Emma isn’t exactly sure why - it may be because Frank Churchill evaded her once or the sting of James Elton is still there or for a much deeper, wordless reason - but Emma flashes her biggest smile and points down the hall.

"Why don’t we just step into my office then?"

***

"Alex," Emma is breathless when she finally runs up his condo steps. He’s waiting for her outside his door. She texted him she was here and she can’t quite read his face, but it doesn’t bode well that he doesn’t try to touch her when she stops a foot in front of him.

She didn’t know how much she craved his casual touch until it was gone.

"I’m so sorry," she blurts out. "A client showed up. It took forever."

"A new client?"

"Frank Churchill of all people. He came looking for my services just as I was getting on the elevator. I couldn’t turn him away. Not after James Elton. But I’m here. Let’s do this."

He’s barefoot in jeans and a white v-neck shirt. She can smell the soap on him and she imagines he showered and a tiny voice in her head whispers it had been for her and she smiles.

"I mean there isn’t much to say," he stuffs his hands in his pockets. "We kissed a bunch of years ago. Tomorrow I’ll be back in the office and we can go on as if nothing’s changed."

She opens her mouth and closes it, “Nothing’s changed?”

"No, it hasn’t. It was just a kiss. A damn good kiss, but I think we both value our friendship and partnership too much to turn it into a thing, right?"

For the first time in her memory, Emma is speechless. She just stands there. Alex tips an eyebrow toward her and after a long moment of silence nods.

"Good night Emma."

And then he is gone and she’s standing alone on his front stoop.

…

She just stands there trying to figure out what just happened.

Nothing in her life coach toolbox prepared for her for how to deal with this. This was too raw for a quippy acronym or learning exercise. There are too many feelings right now. She is overwhelmed by them.

But the one that that rises to the surface is anger. Anger at their joint stupidity and so Emma says screw it. They were supposed to talk about this together and instead Alex cut her off. He didn’t get to do that.

She pounds on the door with her fist and forces any logical thoughts out of her head. He doesn’t answer right away so she pounds again.

"ALEX KNIGHTLEY GET OUT HERE."

A neighbor turns on his porch light, but Emma doesn’t care. She pounds again and again.

"ALEX!"

It goes against ever dignified advice Emma’s ever given. A woman doesn’t beat on the door of a man to get his attention. It isn’t Emma Approved. But see this is Alex. All the rules are different with Alex.

"Emma, what the hell?"

But Emma doesn’t wait. She doesn’t explain. She breaks all her own rules.

She kisses him.

***

“Alex”

 

He pulls back and stares at her with wild eyes. She stands in the doorway of his condo, waiting.

 

And then without a sound he steps forward and reaches behind her. Emma doesn’t move and he rests a hand on her hip to pull her half a step forward and she hears the door shutting behind her. It makes a soft click and even though its not cold Emma shivers. Every nerve in her body hums, tuning itself like like an orchestra.

 

He looks at her like he is standing on a precipice and Emma knows what is about to happen between them. Somewhere in her brain she can hear Emma, Life Coach screaming to slow down. Alex is too important to just leap after. There needs to be discussion and a cost/benefits chart. At the very least she should take more time to think, maybe journal? But the thought of trying to write down what she’s feeling right now is so ridiculous that she actually laughs. Its soft and she doubts Alex even hears it. He’s still staring at her.

 

“Emma.”

 

He says her name like its lodged in his chest, stealing his breath.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She’s talking about Frank Churchill, but also about lying for so many years. She’s sorry about how they got here, but not that they’re here. That she’s not sorry about at all.

 

“Hey,” he tips his head so he catches her eye, “I don’t know about you, but I think words can wait. Not tonight.”

 

She nods and when he leans around her she thinks he’s going to open the door to show her out, but then the lock slides into place and before Emma can process what that means he moves. He backs them against the door. Her head bumps against the glass and his fingers reach up to touch the spot, to buffer, a moment too late. But it doesn’t matter because Alex is kissing her. His lips are closed and he tilts his head to catch a new angle. Emma stays still. Her arms don’t seem to be working. It doesn’t quite make sense to her. She kissed Alex just a minute ago and it had been good, but it hadn’t stolen her breath away. But when he kisses her slow and cautious there is an echo in her chest. She can’t move. All she can do is feel.

 

Alex traces the underline of her jaw with a forefinger and leans his other hand on the door, enclosing her in him. He brushes his lips across her lips and pulls back a hair’s breadth to see her and Emma finally exhales.

 

In that exhale he reads her permission. This isn’t like the first time. There can be no hesitation between them. He lowers his lips to hers again, but this time it isn’t careful. He changes angles and Emma’s brain finally works. She threads her fingers through his hair and arches into him. He groans in his throat and Emma smiles under his kiss.

 

“You’re terrible,” he mutters.

 

“And you like it.”

 

Alex dips and catches her hips with his own, pressing them up against the door so Emma is on the tips of her tennis shoes. They squeak against the floor. He’s got her around the waist, an entire arm wrapped around her, and it makes Emma feel tiny and held.

 

“I do.” He is kissing her neck and his lips hover over her pulse point. Emma tips her head back against the door and sighs. “Emma?”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“Put your legs around me like you did that night.”

 

She does and his hands drag down her hips to cup her ass and then Alex doesn’t stop pressing:  mouths, arms, chests, and hips. He is straining to close any space left between them. Emma has the random thought that maybe she’s wanted this for far longer than she’s ever admitted to herself. She tugs on his lower lip with her teeth and his tongue darts over her’s and the sounds they are both making sets her nerve endings on fire.

 

When Alex pulls them away from the door Emma doesn’t need to guess where they are going. He is carrying her and she winds herself around him. She’s a few inches above him and she’s pretty sure that’s never happened before so she takes advantage of the angle and holds his face in her hands as she kisses him.

 

“Alex,” she sighs as he nudges his bedroom door open.

 

“I like hearing you say my name that way,” he says between kisses. He stands at the foot of the bed, holding her up, and kissing her. It is slow and unhurried. And then one hand finds the zipper on her sweatshirt and tugs it down. He’s still holding her up and Emma won’t lie - it’s hot.

 

She never thought of Alex as hot. Handsome, yes. But hot? He was too khaki and Excel spreadsheets to be hot. But then he is lowering her to the bed and he does that thing she’s only seen done in movies where he holds her up with one arm as he crawls across the blankets and - holy shit - Emma wants to get his clothes off now.

 

She’s lying on the bed now and he’s pushing the hoodie off her shoulders so all she has on is her white tanktop, tennis shoes, and jeans. But Emma isn’t interested in slowly being undressed or at least she’s not interested in being undressed alone. She reaches up and tugs Alex’s shirt up. He’s straddling her hips and it’s a bit awkward for a moment because he’s obviously more interested in getting her clothes off than his own, but they manage to pull their shirts over their heads and Emma hooks her arms around her back to undo her bra. She’s about to slide it off her shoulders when Alex covers her hands with his.

 

They both still and Emma realizes that anything past this will be entirely new. It’s not like she hasn’t seen Alex without his shirt on and he’s seen her in a bikini over years of shared family vacations. If they stopped here they could pretend that no new territory had been covered. They could pretend that they hadn’t just made out against his front door; they pretended the first kissed hadn’t happened for years. They could go back to pretending.

 

So the next step is a first step into something neither of them know. It is scary and Emma stays still as Alex dips down so their foreheads touch. He seems to want to say something, but Emma isn’t sure she wants him to. Words can wait. And whatever he was about to say - when he looks at her he stops. Instead, he closes his eyes and kisses her sweetly. He drops his hands and Emma slides her bra off.

 

Emma’s never been shy about her body though she has strict rules about showing it off. Covered skin is sexier than uncovered, she thinks. But this is not the time for covered anything and Emma takes a moment to take in Alex taking her in. She smiles and pulls him down by the neck. She kisses him and sighs when his hands cup her breasts. His mouth moves down her neck, across her breast bone, and then his mouth is on her and she is half on the mattress, half off. Her head falls back and she shivers from the touch of their skin, flesh to flesh.

 

He wants her. She doesn’t know why it didn’t sink in until now, but he really wants her. She can feel it against her leg and she’s impatient now. Her hands tug on his jeans and he is breathing fast and hard. Emma toes off her tennis shoes - they land somewhere on the floor with a thud - and Alex is stripping off his own jeans as she wiggles out of her’s. Both of them shuck their underwear with their pants and suddenly when they turn back to one another they are naked and for a moment it’s weird.

 

Emma takes a moment to look at Alex and smiles from the faded tan lines on his upper thigh. She traces the line. It’s higher up on his leg and she knows its from the bike trip he took across the country this summer with Darcy and Fitz and a few of their other friends from business school. She hated those stupid little bike shorts he’d wear; she told him so a thousand times. But now she loves them. Alex kneels with one leg between her’s and watches her study his leg, his hip bone, and then the rest of him. She just looks - barely touching the faded tan line.

 

“I like knowing all of you,” she says.

 

It’s not a very clear thing to say. She means she likes being able to see the tan line and know where it came from and why he has it. She likes knowing what that trip meant to him and how he couldn’t stop talking about it after he got back. It’s not enough to see his body, she thinks, she likes knowing the story there. Their history doesn’t have to be a stumbling block. It can make this, this whatever thing that happening right now, better.

 

“You are beautiful,” he whispers and Emma rises onto her knees so they are in the middle of the bed together. Their arms come around each other and Alex kisses her in that way that steals her breath. Emma lets herself enjoy it for a few minutes, but as the want grows in her belly she leans into him so that he falls backwards onto the bed, taking her with him. There is laughter and she tucks that away. She doesn’t know if this is love yet, but they do make laughter together and that is something.

 

They fall sideways and lay there for a long second. Emma closes her eyes as Alex trails his fingers up and down her side, tracing the path from her ribs to her hip bone. Impatient, Emma pushes and rolls on top of him. She straddles him and is satisfied to see his eyes go wide. His hands slide up her thighs and lock in the small of her back. It tips her pelvic bone forward and she can feel the length of him between her legs. It feels great and there is silence between them as she rocks her hips back and forth, imperceptible movements, pleasuring herself on him.

 

“You’re killing me in the best way,” his breath hitches at the end and he just dissolves into a groan.

 

“Then do something about it,” she grins.

 

He does. He rolls her, pins her to the bed, and captures her gasp with his mouth. They make out for a long time like that - her on her back and him hovering on his elbows above her. He doesn’t really touch her anywhere else and soon she’s tugging his hands down to touch her breasts, stomach, and center.

 

“See it’s not nice to tease,” he smiles against her jaw.

 

She pinches his ass and he yelps.

 

The look of surprise is priceless and she just grins at him. He mutters something and comes after her, pulling her into his arms and rolling. They bite and pinch  and wrestle and laugh. Emma is pretty sure she’ll have at least one bruise tomorrow and Alex definitely hits an elbow on his nightstand. But there is a happy ache in her gut from laughing and she ends up underneath him as he leans on an elbow just looking at her.

 

“Come here,” she says and he complies. The laughter turns to sighs and she feels his hand touch her, finally. She can’t help it. She groans, from want and laughter, but then he shifts and his fingers are stroking her and it becomes a sigh into his shoulder. She bends a knee as he makes circles with his thumb and she lets herself enjoy it. She lets herself float up and away in the same delicious buzz she gets after a few glasses of wine. It’s so pleasant that she doesn’t realized he’s moved off her until he is kneeling between her legs.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

He presses a kiss to her lips, “Trust me. Lift your hips.” She does so obediently and he slides a pillow beneath them. It is only then that she gets what he is going to do.

 

This isn’t Emma’s first time around the block and she’s fine with a guy going down on her. She’s grateful. But this is Alex. It’s intimate. Even more intimate than what they’ve done so far and she bites her lip, unsure if she’s ready.

 

“Emma…trust me.” He is asking, but the look on her face stops him. She is about to apologize for not being ready to do that, but he doesn’t let her. He kisses her forehead and mutters, “Eventually,” and she cherishes that word. She cherishes him.

 

He lays down on his side and goes back to touching her lightly. Emma curls onto her side and they lay there facing each other - a few inches apart - and he pushes a strand of hair off her forehead. “Look at me,” he says. She does and he curls a finger into her, flashing in and out, and she gasps. She tucks her chin, but he guides it back so they are looking at one another and Emma bites down on her lip. “Relax,” he whispers into her ear.

 

He watches it happen: the blossoming and tightening at the same time as his fingers quicken. He hears her gasps as the wave builds. It is happening and she so badly wants to close her eyes and escape into the dark and feelings and let them be anonymous, incredible feelings, but she keeps her eyes locked on him. It isn’t just sighs and sensations. It’s him doing this to her, with her.

 

And then she wants him with her more than she wants anything at all. She finds him and wraps her fingers around him and begins to pump. She’s rewarded with a long groan. She responds and they touch each other, build each other up. It’s an undertow and Emma can’t help it - she shouts a groan that comes from her lungs. Immediately she lets go of him to cover her mouth. Surely his neighbors heard that?

 

“Don’t stop,” he grunts.

 

“I’m loud.”

 

“I like you loud. I always have. ”

 

“In me,” she rasps. If he likes loud then she won’t bother trying to be anything else but honest, “I want you in me.”

 

And he’s over her and she guides him in before he can say anything. She doesn’t have time for feelings right now. Everything feels like everything and as both of them exhale into one another Emma can only muster his name.

 

“Alex.”

 

“Emma.”

 

Alex takes over. His hips move over hers and there is the sound of air sucking as he pumps. She touches him everywhere and it speeds him along. Emma knows that sometimes slow is better. She likes slow, but not now. Now she needs him to move. The friction is unbearable. It is building inside of her, tightening and loosening her at the same time.

 

It’s amazingly hot to watch how you can undo someone, Emma decides. She watches it happen to Alex:  the way his pupils dilate, the sweat on his brow, the guttural rasping breath, and the clasping hands holding onto her hips as he slams into them. She’s doing that to him. Her.

 

“Emma, I don’t think I can…”

 

“Me too.”

 

“Together,” he rasps.

 

She whimpers against closed eyes.

 

“Emma, finish with me,” he says, “finish.” And his thumb is there, stroking her so lightly that it is like waving her hand over a flame. “Emma.”

 

It’s her name on his lips that pushes her off that precipice. She comes and he comes. She bucks against him, grips his shoulders, and buries her face in his chest. She lets him see her like that, completely exposed and needy, taking, clutching, and desperate. As she comes down her eyes are still pressed so tight that she sees stars and Alex captures her hand to kiss the ridge of every knuckle.

 

***

 

(The next morning. In bed. Emma in Alex’s t-shirt from last night. Alex in nothing. Emma stretches. Alex pulls her half on top of him and plays with her hair.)

"You know you hog the covers."

"I do not. I sleep like a lady."

"And how does a lady sleep?"

"However she wants."

"HA! That is exactly how you sleep - wherever and however you want. I think I got an elbow in the face at least twice."

"Whatever. That’s just because there’s so much of you. I hardly had any room."

"Any room? You do realize you woke up in the middle of the bed, on your stomach, arms spread out like an golden eagle.

"That’s a strangely specific metaphor."

"What would you say?"

"Probably just bird. Or if you’re trying to say I have gigantic arms maybe an albatross. I think they have the widest wingspan."

"Eagles are regal."

“Humphf don’t try to cover it up now. You don’t like my proportions.”

"I love your proportions. I think I proved that last night."

"You did. Twice."

"Is that a smirk? Did I just see Emma Woodhouse smirk about how much sex she got?"

"A lady does not kiss and tell."

"I’m not interested in a lady."

"Then what are you interested in?"

"You. Just as you are. No pretense."

"You did say you like me loud."

"I do. I always have."

"What did you mean by that?"

"You mean besides being loud during sex?"

"Yeah it seemed to mean more when you said it."

"I meant that as much as you can drive me crazy I love it when you’re scheming. Or excited about something. I like seeing you like that. It feels like this secret side of you that only a few people know and I dunno…it’s special."

"What am I like normally?"

"Just more composed. It’s not bad. I just like it best when you’re too excited to think about how you should act and you just act. That’s all."

"Know what I like?"

"Hmm?"

"I like how much of my documentary footage is you coming and going from my door."

"That’s oddly specific."

"Said the guy who called me a golden eagle."

"What do mean by my coming and going from your door?"

"I was reviewing the documentary footage the other day and I noticed how often you come and go from my door and it makes me really happy. It’s like no matter what I can always count on you being there, right outside my door or in my office."

"So your favorite thing about me is that I’m predictable."

"Steady. Safe. Strong. You really should leave words to me. I’m much better with them. Though you were pretty good with words last night."

"Really?"

"Maybe."

"Don’t go hiding your head Emma! You can’t tease and then not tell."

"Fine. When you told me to put my legs around you like that night…that was pretty damn hot."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Cause your voice was all desperate and gravelly and it made me think of that night."

"And that turned you on?"

"The fact that it still mattered to you after all these years - that you remember the details…that meant something."

…

"Alex say something."

"Emma, I’m in love with you."

***

When Alex tells Emma he loves her - she goes blank - and then she says with her tongue feeling like lead, “Thank you.”

Let the record state that in moments of great distress Emma Woodhouse is always polite.

He stills under her hands, but its just for a second and then he pushes his lips into a smile and he is kissing her neck. Emma threads her fingers through his hair and tries to pretend that she doesn’t notice that it is a well timed gesture to hide his face from her. She takes advantage too and tries to regroup. Her eyes are pointed to the ceiling and there is a butterfly in her throat. It isn’t her stomach. No, she can feel the wings brushing against her esophagus. It’s a nervousness that is not good.

The problem with putting off words until the morning is the fact that morning always comes. It comes bright and Emma decides the morning after she sleeps with Alex that the angle of the sun is too high. It’s a degree of exposure that is scarier than she would like. She wishes she could pull the sun down so the shadows are long enough to obscure the tension between them.

He makes her breakfast and its terrible, but that’s because Alex is a terrible cook. His idea of breakfast is cold pizza and his idea of a homemade meal is something from the grill. But he can make one thing - this sausage, egg casserole thing that comes in tortillas.

It was the only thing his father knew how to make when Alex’s mother left the family all those years ago. Alex and John and their father ate that casserole every night for six months before he broke down and asked for help. So the egg-sausage-tortilla casserole is a thing in the Knightley family and Alex makes it for her. She’s in borrowed sweatpants and her t-shirt with her greasy hair piled on her head and Emma really just wants to cry a little because this isn’t how she pictured it (Yes, she pictured it okay?).

Alex is so flustered he keeps dropping eggs on the floor.

Emma really just wants a shower, but she’s not sure if she should ask to use his.

They both try to carry a conversation, but it gets snuffed out by hesitant silences and sentences that trail off into nothing.

What’s worse is that they both know its bad, but Alex is trying so hard. He keeps rushing because he thinks she is hungry (she’s starving, but she doesn’t want to complain so she says nothing) and the sausage is frozen, which grosses Emma out a little.

But its the Knightley sausage-egg-tortilla casserole. You can’t not love it and love Alex Knightley.

And she does. She does love him. She watches him wear that stupid checkered grill apron her father insisted he own when Alex bought his grill (it’s flame retardant). She watches him run around in that apron and her heart is so full that she is sure its sinking into her abdomen from the weight of caring so much. But she doesn’t know how to say it.

So Emma just sits there with a grin pasted on her face and pretends she’s excited to eat breakfast food out of a tortilla.

"This is really terrible," he says half way through their romantic-breakfast-made-entirely-from-frozen-foods.

"No it’s great," she covers her mouth to hide the fact that she’s pretty sure she has egg on her chin. Tortillas are not an Emma Approved food delivery system.

He just looks at her and Emma gives him a thumbs up.

"Emma," he deflates, "why is this so bad?"

"The eggs taste like rubber."

"Not that. Us. Why is this so…"

"Awkward?"

"Yes."

She pushes away her plate and reaches across the table for his hands. He stiffens and she rubs her thumb along his knuckles to try to reassure him.

"I think its awkward because we both want this so much."

"You do?"

She frowns, “Alex…”

After last night, how could she doubt him?

"It’s just you haven’t really been yourself since we got out of bed. I mean you haven’t critiqued my lack of local, organic ingredients or asked to take a shower. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get to noon without a shower. It’s almost two o’clock."

"I’m not that bad."

"Emma, you’re the only girl I’ve ever heard of who used to actually shower after gym class."

She tosses her hair, “I like to be clean.”

"Which is why I started to worry when you were fine with my paint covered sweatpants."

"Can I please -god -get out of these things?"

He smiles, “Yes.”

"Cause they have holes in the them and why Alex?  Why would you keep pants with holes in them?"

He nudges her chair with his foot and jerks his head toward the bathroom, “Why don’t you go take a bubble bath and I’ll put your clothes from yesterday in the wash? I think I still have that fancy soap set you got me last Christmas as a gag gift. I’m going to run to the store and get you Emma-food. Then we’ll watch something and be clean lazy bums all day.”

She kisses him opened mouthed and she can hear the growl in the back of his throat when she scratches her nails across his neck. She makes a mental note to investigate that further, but for now she has a bath to attend to.

"You are a god among mortals Alex Knightley," she whispers when she pulls back.

"And you are going to be responsible for cleaning up."

"Fair enough," she calls out as she heads toward his bathroom.

***

Alex watches her and bites his lip. Really he is in trouble. Deep, gaping-hole kind of trouble.

But he loves it and he loves her. It doesn’t matter that she didn’t say it back. She will. Alex is sure of it. He determined not to screw this up, not to screw them up.

He grabs his wallet and keys and is just about to leave when he hears his phone ring. It’s still in the pocket of his jeans, which are thrown in a corner of his bedroom. He catches it on the last ring and answers a bit breathless.

The voice on the other end is going a hundred miles a minute.

"Maddie, slow down. What do you mean Jane is in town? I thought she was studying abroad in Ireland? No, no I understand you won’t be in the office Monday. It’s all very abrupt I’m sure. And yes, give her my best. Tell her we’ll have to reconnect at some point. Thanks for letting me know Maddie."

As Alex gets off the phone he hears Emma talking to herself about the status of his bath towels and internally he swears.

How the hell is he going to explain to Emma that his girlfriend from business school just came back to town?

***

 

Emma has known Jane Fairfax her entire life.

Or rather, she’s known about Jane Fairfax. She’s Maddie Bates’ niece and the woman can never shut up about her.

Jane is accomplished. That’s what Maddie says about her. That’s what everyone says about her. Jane reads all the books and is interested in superior things like women’s education in third world countries and composting. The only television she watches is NOVA on PBS and the only thing she knows about fashion is which companies pay their workers a living wage. She’s both impossibly boring and infuriating.

Emma never saw what Alex saw in her.

Sure, they both have favorite functions in excel. Sure they went to business school together (him - marketing, Jane - finance). Sure they both use the word logical in every conversation. Sure they both like khaki.

But Jane Fairfax?

Emma never did and never would understand the attraction. The woman was so…intractable. She was passive and that probably drove Emma crazy more than anything else. They saw each other from time to time when she would come to visit Maddie Bates and Emma couldn’t tell you a thing about her mind. She hardly spoke an opinion of her own. She never criticized Emma to her face, but Emma could feel the other woman’s beady eyes on her judging her.

"Emma, you’re going to have to give up your grudge against Jane Fairfax," Annie told her not to long after Alex started dating Jane.

"Why should I?"

"Because you move in the same circles."

"We always have and that hasn’t stopped me from having a grudge. It’s very cathartic to dislike someone from a distance sometimes. You should try it Annie."

Annie sighed, “But now she’s part of Alex’s life.” Emma’s throat tightened when Annie said that. She looked away. “And if you want to be part of his life you’re going to need to accept Jane.”

Emma used to be the person in Alex’s life that people would just have to accept, no questions asked. They were each others dates to boring Highbury parties and when their families went to Aspen they always spent the day together skiing. He got her through statistics and she helped him fill out his professional wardrobe before his first internship. They always spent part of the holidays binge watching television together, secluded in her father’s den for days at a time. After he moved into his own place sometimes he’d wander over to her father’s house on weeknights for dinner. The list of how they were entwined went on and on and Emma didn’t appreciate that fact changing.

But change was inevitable. Alex went off to get his MBA and there was Jane Fairfax while Emma was home, about to graduate from college, and unsure what she was going to do next.

For nine months Emma chewed her nails down to the bed and worried, though she couldn’t have admitted why she was so anxious. She dressed her feelings up as ‘For-Alex’s-good.’ She talked it over with Annie. Alex needs someone to push him. Jane Fairfax is too much like him to be good for him. And - Emma said with an arched eyebrow - Alex probably isn’t very good for Jane either. For both their sakes they should end it. That was Emma’s opinion as a professional matchmaker. Why don’t more people listen to her?

Emma didn’t break up Alex and Jane.

It ended nine months after it started. One day she noticed the relationship status change on his Facebook. He went rock climbing for a weekend and came back seemingly unaffected. They never talked about it.

And years later Emma still doesn’t understand. She knows why they were incompatible, but she’s confused by Alex’s lack of emotion about the whole thing. Alex loved with his whole heart. That Emma knew better than anyone. And he had loved Jane Fairfax. He told Emma so.  

Yet over the years he has remained loyal to Jane. He refuses to talk about his relationship with her. He is genuinely happy to hear about Jane from Maddie Bates and he always stands up for her when Emma makes a comment. It’s an unwritten rule that Emma adopted to never talk about Jane by name. It’s not worth the fight.

But what happened…that’s a mystery Emma has never been able to figure out.

***

Alex knows he should tell Emma about Jane Fairfax coming back into town. He knows the longer he puts off telling her the more likely it will blow up in his face. Emma has never been reasonable about Jane.

Alex knows this, but he puts it off because this thing they have feels so fragile. It’s like spun sugar. He’s not sure how to handle it. Everything is new, but everything is familiar too. His head spins sometimes when he grips her around the waist and pulls her against him. It’s an intoxicating sensation and that’s why he doesn’t tell Emma about Jane.

He wants to keep what they have just as it is for a little while longer.

Emma does too.

So the logical thing is to secret date.

 

“Everyone will freak out,” Emma says as Alex works his way down her neck. They’ve been holed up in his apartment all day. Two hours ago she said she should go home; her father is going to start to worry. Phone calls won’t pacify him forever. She sighs when Alex finds her pulse point and he smiles against her skin.

“Your sister and Annie are going to want every detail,” he mutters.

“And John is going to want to know your intentions.”

“The Highbury partners will wonder about our working relationship,” he skims the vee in her t-shirt with a finger. He’s taken it off her so many times in the last 24 hours that it’s stretched out. It dips far too low for what is publically decent and Alex takes advantage of that fact for his lips to drop lower…

“Then lets keep it to ourselves,” Emma tugs his face up and they lock eyes.

“And see where it goes,” he nods.

She smiles and it makes him smile.

“Alex,”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really happy.”

***

“Fancy meeting you here,” Alex laughs when Emma pushes him up against the closet door.

“What took you so long?”

“Maddie Bates wanted to talk to me about this actuarial conference coming up. It’s next month. I think I might go. It’s really interesting actually because-,”

Emma lets out a noise of frustration. “Alex!”

“What?”

“I have exactly 15 minutes before I have to have another one of those wretched one-hour coaching sessions you roped me into. Do you want to make out or do you want to talk about your numbers meeting?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mock my actuarial conference.”

“You’re an idiot,” she mutters before pressing her lips to his and the words die in his throat.

Her touch is light and it unfurls something in the pit of his stomach different from the lust coursing through his blood. Her lips are impossibly soft and in the back of his head he can hear Emma explaining why - the products and habits she has to keep her mouth smooth and light as cotton candy. He can hear her tone as if she were making one of her videos and he has no idea how to stop, but he desperately wants to because he does not want life coach Emma right now…

She tilts her head and her hair falls over her shoulder and tickles his neck. He inhales and there it is - the smells he’s come to associate with Emma. It’s something crisp and expensive and feminine. It’s the damndest thing, but even after sleeping over at his place and showering with his random assortment of soap she always still smells like Emma. He is obsessed with how that is possible.

Then she tugs on his lower lip, catches it, and he can feel her smile against his mouth.

It’s that smirk that he’s drowning in.

Being with Emma like this is a strange, heady mixture of old and new. He’s always liked her hair messy, pulled back and falling down at the same time. But he didn’t know until recently that he loved her hair the most right after she wakes up and shuffles into the kitchen with the word coffee on her lips. It takes her half a cup to think to smooth her hair down with her fingers and that’s his favorite way for her hair to be - messy and soft from sleep.

But that smirk - that’s what is killing him because he’s discovering for all Emma’s talk about the proper way to do things there is a side of her that is more than a little bit evil too. She has a mischievousness that he can’t enough of. The other day she texted him innuendos through a meeting he had with her father. He almost died every time Mr. Woodhouse asked him what was on his mind. He seemed distracted.  

Then she wore that green wrap dress after he told her what it did to him the last time she wore it.

“But now you get to touch me,” she breathed when he backed her up against the door of his office and ran his hands down her body.

And there is the fact that all of his looser fitting pants mysteriously disappeared from his apartment over the weekend.

“I like checking out your ass,” she shrugged when he protested.

Then there are the closets. Oh, the closets. They both have offices with locking doors and while they’ve made good use of Emma’s couch at least once Emma insists on them meeting in closets.

“People are going to start to notice,” he pointed out, “us walking out of closets all the time.”

“I’m very sneaky.”

“But I’m not,” he said because it was true.

“Sometimes I accidently leave my camera on,” Emma explained, “or yours on. I don’t want to -,”

“Wait, you can turn on my camera remotely?”

“The point is we don’t need to make that kind of video,” she shrugged, “so that’s why the closets. Besides I like the call back to our first kiss.”

He smiled, “That is nice.”

“So closets. There are twenty-two at Highbury if you don’t count the janitorial closets. I refuse to make out next to a mop.”

“Alright.”

“Twenty-two,” she smirked, “and I think we should explore them all. Thoroughly.”

Alex snorted, “You always did well with goals.”

Yeah, the closets. This is their fifth in a week and Alex’s favorite because there is counter inside and he can lift Emma onto it. She wraps herself around him, tucking her bare feet (her shoes and his coat fell away a while ago) into the small of his back. She leans onto her elbows and he can bend over her, exploring and taking his time. Her fingers wind through his hair and Alex can’t form full thoughts anymore. His hands take over and he just needs to touch her everywhere and anywhere at the same time.

“Alex?” she breathes when he tugs her shirt up.

“Yeah?”

“What if we go to New York this weekend?”

***

They go to New York for the weekend.

Emma can’t believe it, but Alex agrees. Alex, who has never done anything spontaneous in his life, agrees to ditch work for the rest of the week and fly to New York for a four-day weekend.

 

It’s indulgent and delectant.

 

They stay at the Waldorf and reenact their first kiss at least a dozen times in the elevator. Reenact and elaborate upon is probably a more accurate statement.

 

Emma spends the weekend tucked into the crook of his arm. It’s a new gesture. He walks with his arm slung across her shoulders, fingers slipped into the collar of her coat, and she can press her face against his shoulder anytime she wants. There is a looseness to it that Emma loves.

 

They don’t take New York by storm. They amble. Both of them have been a half dozen times so there is no rush. Rather, they get pizza in Greenwich Village, spend a day at MOMA, and Emma indulges with a stop at the Kate Spade flagship store. Alex convinces her to spend an afternoon wandering through the arms and armor branch of the MET [which is more fun than she’ll admit] and in exchange he agrees to go dancing at a club in Tribeca. It’s like the night of their first kiss. The music pounds in her ears and she slips her hands under the collar of his shirt, making tiny circles across his neck until he practically hums.  

 

Alex lasts longer than she expected so when he tugs her toward the door she’s happy to go. Emma loves a good party, but there is something nice about leaving the party with the right person too. They take the subway back to their hotel because Alex has a thing for public transportation. There is almost no one in the car with them and Alex hooks Emma’s legs over his knees and pulls her close to him while he reads her a passage from an essay by Wendell Berry he keeps on his phone.

 

She listens very hard because the alcohol is making her sleepy, but Alex is so eager to read her this one paragraph. Just from his words, he says, you’re right outside with him. When he is done she  presses her nose along his cheek and whispers, “You are adorable.”

 

“I just read you an essay on sustainable farming.”

 

“Like, I said - adorable.”

 

“Emma,” he pulls back a little, “do you worry that we don’t have enough in common? That it’s just history between us?”

 

“What’s wrong with history?”

 

He lifts a shoulder, “You can’t build a whole relationship based off of history.”

 

“I think our history is what makes you and me possible. It makes all the difference.”

 

Alex thins his lips and looks at her as if he wants to say something, but then he smiles and says softly, “Yeah. You’re right.”

 

**

Anne texts Emma four times over the weekend to give her a call when she has the chance, but Emma doesn’t until the next Monday when she gets back to the office.

 

Alex is thirty minutes behind her so it doesn’t appear like they are coming to work together. He keeps insisting that its ridiculous to think people won’t put it together. Maddy Bates found them coming out of a closet, readjusting clothes, and Emma babbled her way through a story about helping Alex find his protractor. Their overlapping four-day weekend is particularly suspicious. Emma knows this. That’s why she insisted he wait a half hour before leaving his place.

 

“Emma, there is no way you think people aren’t going to figure this out!” he followed her to the his door this morning.

 

She shut him up with a long kiss and a hand on his chest, “Thirty minutes, but not a minute longer.”

 

He smiled when she said that and the memory of it makes her smile now.

 

Her thumb is on the screen to call Annie back, but then an idea pops into her head. He’s right. They can’t keep secret dating. But if they’re going to tell everyone she doesn’t see why they can’t have one more day of illicit fun by sneaking around. She leaves her phone in her office and makes her way to Alex’s. They haven’t made proper use of his desk yet. That will need to be remedied.

 

But all thoughts of what she can do on Alex’s desk vanish when Emma opens the door and finds a woman sitting in the darkened, empty room.

 

“Emma,” she jumps up and Emma feels the blood rush to her head as she realizes who it was who had been waiting for Alex.

“Jane Fairfax.”

***

 

 

"Tell me Alex, why is Jane Fairfax in your office?" 

She doesn’t try to keep her voice calm. Normally she hates it when women’s voices go pitched. It’s so cliche. But not now.  

Alex takes half a step toward her. “She was waiting for me. I forgot we had a Monday coffee scheduled.” 

"You knew she was coming back into town and you didn’t tell me?" Her hand comes up to her lips and she stands very still because she doesn’t know how to feel. 

They are in Emma’s office. The door is shut, but it doesn’t matter. She’d be doing this in Alex’s office if he hadn’t pulled her out of there. Usually Emma cares about appearances. She doesn’t like to have too many emotions in front of people, but Jane Farifax isn’t worth the effort. 

Memories of that night before her first trip to New York come flooding back. Emma closes her eyes and tries to swallow it all away. 

"You lied to me." The truth sinks in and Emma knows the heart is muscle. It doesn’t crack or splinter, but she swears her’s does in that moment. 

Alex clenches his fists and says it very slowly as if that’ll make the words sting less. ”I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you.” 

"That’s still a lie." 

"All I’m doing is having coffee with her. You can’t tell me you’re that possessive. Come on Emma - that’s beneath you. " 

Emma hugs her stomach and chokes out a bitter laugh. 

"Alex you can have coffee with the entire Victoria Secret catalogue for all I care. Jealousy is not my problem when it comes to Jane Fairfax." 

"Then what?" he steps forward to touch her, but Emma steps back. He frowns. "You’re always going on about how annoyingly perfect she is. You can’t hate her because she’s…"

"What? Good at everything, sweet to everyone, and never makes a mistake?" 

"Yeah." 

She licks her lips and nods, “Well I do. I do because its a front. Jane Fairfax is petty and she’s….” The words are stuck in her throat and Emma doesn’t know how to get them out. There are so many things she’s called Jane Fairfax in her head over the years, but now looking into Alex’s shocked eyes she can’t think of one that will communicate how much she hates the other woman. And then finally she settles on the one word she swore she’d never call another woman except this time it is the only one that really says how she feels.

"Jane Fairfax is a bitch." 

His mouth drops open and he takes a step back from her. Emma hugs her arms tighter around her stomach as if to offer some sort of steadiness. Normally Alex is her steady, but right now he’s backing away from her. 

"Emma, I know you can be judgmental sometimes, but I’ve never seen you be cruel. There are things you don’t know about Jane…," he swallows, "things that aren’t my place to tell you." 

"And there are things you don’t know about me," she snaps. 

"Like what?" 

"Like Jane Fairfax is the reason why I don’t remember my first time."  

 

***

 

“What do you mean your first time?” Alex stammers. She just looks at him and his voice is shakey, “Emma are you saying you can’t remember the first time you had sex?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He sags, “Emma that’s rape.”

 

She screws up her fists and walks past him to sit on her couch. He sits next to her, but doesn’t touch her. She wishes he would touch her, just a gentle hand on her arm or something. That’s why she never tells anyone. If she did everyone would see her as broken and Emma doesn’t want to be seen that way. She doesn’t want people’s pity.

 

“Remember New Years Eve and the first night we kissed?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I drank like crazy that night, remember?”

 

He stiffens next to her, “Did something else happen that night?”

 

She waves a hand, “Oh god no. It was a month before that.”

 

“Emma!”

 

“Please don’t look at me like that.” The emotion catches in her throat and she finally looks Alex in the eye.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like I’m someone different now that you know.”

 

“Hey,” he says softly, “nothing you tell me will change the way I look at you.” And finally he does touch her. It’s a gentle pressure on her hand and she grips on tight, slipping her fingers through his. “Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to, but if you want.”

 

“Don’t you want an explanation about Jane Fairfax?”

 

He scoots closer, “Emma, Jane Fairfax is my friend. You are the woman I love. All that matters is you.”

 

She turns into him and his arms come up around her. She doesn’t cry. It’s been too long to cry about it, at least like this. She doesn’t have a lot of feelings about that night except that it happened and that she won’t let it tear her down. But she does take comfort in Alex’s hold. It’s familiar and safe. She buries herself in his arms and recalls how he’s always been that safe place for her. He’s always been her steady even when he didn’t know how much she needed it.

She needs him and she’ll always need him.

It’s a realization too big for the moment so Emma tucks it away for later to process. But knowing it makes her brave in a way she hasn’t been in a long time.

“I want to tell you,” she pulls back. “Not all of it, but some of it. Is that okay?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Remember the night we kissed I had just broken up with my college boyfriend?”

 

Alex’s jaw tightens, “Was it him?”

 

“No. It was someone else. Someone I knew and trusted. A friend of his actually. It happened at one of those parties down on the beach that you always hated. The ones Isabella would drag us too sometimes.”

 

“Rich kids, drugs, and the ocean don’t yield good things.”

 

Emma bites her lip on his use of yield. It’s such an Alex term. “Well, I went to one of those parties and Jane was there.”

 

“Jane?”

 

“Yeah it was weird. I hadn’t seen her at one ever. But when I got there she was making out with this guy. The guy. I thought it was out-of-character for her because he wasn’t the smartest guy, but I didn’t think much of it. Later, though, that guy started hanging around me. Like I said, he was my boyfriend’s friend and I didn’t think much of it. But there got to be this point where he wouldn’t leave me alone. I should have left.”

 

“Don’t blame yourself.”

 

Emma blinks rapidly and nods a little, “No I really should have left. I don’t even remember why I stayed. I probably just wanted for once to do something that would actually worry my father. For once I was alone. You, Isabella, or my boyfriend weren’t with me. For once I didn’t have some sort of chaperone. I think I stayed because for so long everyone kept telling me the world is this place you need to be worried about and I wanted to prove them wrong.

 

“So there were people hanging out by the fire and I went and joined them. Jane was there and I could tell she was furious. This guy had been with her and now he was all over me. She came to talk to us. She had a couple drinks and offered me one. I hadn’t had more than half a beer all night so I took it. I thought it might take the edge off and make me feel less creeped out by my boyfriend’s friend hitting on me.”

 

“Was there something in the drink?”

 

Emma nods. There are tears now. When Emma cries the tears fall slowly. She isn’t a mess of emotions when she’s sad. She never has been.

 

“I remember bits and pieces. Images really. Nothing scary. It wasn’t violent. I remember the guy telling people he was going to take me home. He helped me to his car. I remember saying yes, but I don’t know to what. And then the next morning I woke up on the beach covered in a towel. My clothes were next to me. They were even folded. I still don’t know who did that.

 

“So I got dressed, walked a few miles until I got to the parking lot, and drove home. The guy never tried to contact me. It was the holidays. I think he went skiing in Aspen or something. I was a wreck, but I didn’t want to tell anyone. I couldn’t figure out if I had slept with my boyfriend’s friend or if I had been raped. I knew either way I couldn’t tell my father; it’d destroy him.”

 

“So you broke up with the guy and went with Isabella to New York.”

 

Emma nods, “And you kissed me at midnight and it was perfect and too much all at the same time. I couldn’t handle it so I lied.”

 

“So you lied.”

 

“I’m really sorry I never told you the whole reason.”

 

“Hey - you don’t owe me anything Emma.”

 

He reaches up and brushes the tears on her cheeks away with two hands. Gently he pulls her toward him and kisses her forehead.

 

She exhales, “Last year when we started our business I started seeing a counselor. I knew if our venture was going to be successful I had to be my own first client and as much as I didn’t want to tell anyone I knew I needed to get help. I still see her twice a month. We talk about it sometimes. It’s helped.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

Emma grips Alex’s hands. “You can’t tell anyone. I don’t want people to know. And it’s not because I’m ashamed of what happened to me or think its my fault. I just don’t want people to know.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” Alex hesitates, “but I think there is something you should know about Jane.”

 

“Alex. She handed me a drink laced with some sort of drug in it. I know it.”

 

“I know,” he says quickly, “but I can’t imagine that she did it on purpose.”

 

“She was jealous of the fact that guy was paying attention to me.”

 

“I know that couldn’t be true.” He pauses, looks toward the door, and rubs a hand across his jaw, “Emma, Jane’s gay.”

 

“Wait…what?”

 

“She’s gay. She came out to me when we were dating. I was maybe the second person besides her best friend. Her aunt doesn’t know. She’s really private about the whole thing.”

 

“But I saw her making out with him. I remember that.”

 

Alex shrugs, “She wasn’t in a great place when we broke up. She was just coming to terms with her sexuality herself. Maybe she’s bi? I don’t know. We don’t talk about it much. But I know Jane. Her sexual preferences aside she’s not a jealous person. She wouldn’t be jealous over some idiot and she’d never drug you and if she thought something was wrong she would have never left you alone.”

 

Trust is a funny thing. It’s like a suspension bridge and stepping out onto it is something Emma isn’t great at under the best of circumstances. She bites her lip and tries to remember if there was something Jane had said or a look that made Emma so sure she knew what she was doing to Emma. She can’t. That isn’t enough for her to just drop her feelings toward Jane, but it does crack the door open to the possibility she might have gotten that part wrong.

“I’m not ready to just forgive her,” she says, “but there is a chance you are right.”

 

Alex exhales, “I do need to go talk to her. I won’t tell her anything, but I need to tell her we can’t help.”

 

“Help with what?”

 

He rubs the back of his neck, “I don’t know exactly. Maddie Bates called me a week ago to tell me Jane was coming back into town and then we went away for the weekend, but last night Jane called and asked to meet me at the office this morning. She said it had something to do with Frank Churchill.”

 

Emma sits back, “Frank Churchill?”

 

“She said she needs our help and she thinks that now that he’s your client you might be able to help. She would have come to you directly, but she thinks you don’t like her.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“Which is why I’m going to tell her no.”

 

Emma tips her head, “But then we won’t know what the connection is between Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax.”

 

“Emma, twenty minutes ago you thought Jane drugged you and now you want to help her?”

 

How can she explain to Alex? She needs to know. Either Frank or Jane needs her help and that is what Emma does - she helps people. It’s just a matter of figuring out which one was telling the truth and what the truth really was.

 

“Alex,” Emma smiles for the first time all morning, “what do you say to a new kind of partnership?”

 


End file.
